The Philosophy of Being a Prick
by Daphed
Summary: Maka is in college majoring in Video game design. So is Soul. AU, eventually lemon.
1. Chapter 1

She sits cross-legged with her laptop in front of her, hair up in a messy bun. It's 3 AM and she's finishing her biology essay that's due tomorrow because although she is ahead of her class by probably years, addiction is in her genes and she's a junky when it comes to procrastination.

Her small apartment is quiet, only the sound of her fingers making contact with the keyboard keeping her company.

She stops and thinks about what to write next. Everything around her starts to seem more and more interesting until her eyelids start to fall shut.

She shakes her head, rubs her eyes, gets up and goes to the bathroom. She looks at the mirror and almost winces. Her green eyes have purple bags under them and her skin is starting to look abnormally pale. She sighs because she knows she'll look like the living dead in the morning. Or, you know, when the sun is out.

She turns the faucet on to as cold as it can go and fills her hands with the water. She takes a sip and then dumps the rest onto her face to wake her up a bit. It barely helps.

Her feet drag her to the couch to finish this essay because she will _not_ let procrastination and sleep overpower her. She is Maka Albarn dammit! She will finish it!

She clacks away faster than before with a new found motivation and is finally done with the damn thing within an hour. She prints it but decides to leave it at the printer because it is allthe way across the room_._ Also too tired too walk the five feet to her bedroom, she lays down defeated onto the sofa. She's dreaming even before her head hits the pillow.

* * *

Sunlight streams in through the naked window and hits her directly in the damn eyes. She's groggily woken up by the brightness and is filled with the feeling of hate because she is seriously pissed at the person who invented windows. She loathes the sun.

Her head hurts like a bitch and her stomach has that weird empty feeling she gets when she stays up too late. She really wants to go back to bed but she knows it's a school day. She looks at her watch and almost screams because she slept in for over an _hour_.

She leaps from the couch and runs to her bathroom to get her toothbrush and then to her room to get her clothes. She slams the teeth cleaner onto her dresser and pulls on some jeans and underwear, she doesn't have time to dress out of her sleeping tee. Maka snatches the toothbrush again and heads back to the bathroom and swishes, gargles, and spits. She then quickly slaps on some deodorant and she's at the door tying her converse in a heartbeat. She grabs her book bag and her house key and almost _fucking forgets her essay_. She runs back in, grabs it from the printer, and literally sprints out the door.

Only her toes meet the ground as she runs down the three flights of stairs. She grabs her bike from the bike rack and petals like nobody's business. Hopefully she can make it to her second class without being late.

In a way she's kind of happy she missed her first class because now she won't fall asleep for the rest of her studies. And she _really_ needs to be awake for those. Whenever she misses a day due to being violently, _violently_ ill she always ends up making herself even sicker. She can't sleep with the information of knowing she missed some lesson or some lecture that she _knows_ will come back one day and bite her in the ass.

Besides, she isn't too worried about missing her first class, it was only history. So far in her life, she really hasn't had to recite how the Maya civilization came to an end or how cotton was the main backbone of America in the 1800s and she's nineteen.

She's about four blocks away from campus, two blocks away from the dorms. Surprisingly, the apartment she has now is actually _less_ than living in the dorms thus having a large amount of students living in her building.

She approaches the campus and sighs because there is an appropriate amount of people to tell her that she isn't late. Just to be sure she checks the time again and smiles. It's ten to nine. She even has time for a drink.

Maka walks to the closest vending machine and positions herself in the back of the line. Suddenly the air around her is just too bland. She starts digging through her mess of a backpack to find her phone so she can listen to music. She slips her headphones into her ears and immediately starts tapping her foot to the beat.

Her urge to dance is overwhelming. She looks behind her; she is the last in line. Coast Clear.

She starts dancing, swaying her hips and rocking her head to the music making sure no one in front of her notices. Each time someone is finished with their selection, she stops and stands at attention, pretending as if she wasn't spazzing out with her stupid dance moves.

She finally gets to the front of the line and slips in the four quarters. Then she expertly dials in the diet coke with three fingers, not even having to look to see if it was correct because coke is her water. She lives off of it.

When the coke drops, so does the beat, and so does she. She drops down rolling her hips like some perv and reaches for the coke.

She happily skips off with her beverage and lightly blushes to herself because she should not have done that in public.

* * *

She's finished with Astrology and Biology, handing in that stupid essay of hers, and now it's time for Game Design! She feels giddy walking to the room where it is located because it's her all-time favorite class ever since she was born. She loves learning the different codes and drawing character design and creating levels and animating! You thought Maka was addicted to procrastination? This level of obsession is off the charts compared to that.

She plops down in her seat and perkily takes out a notebook filled with different coding notes and mutant pictures. Next she takes out her favorite pencil and starts drawing a new character, waiting for her teacher to arrive. The girl looks similar to her, with the exception to pigtails and actual boobs. She wears a long, black trench coat and clunky boots with a plaid skirt. She's holding a scythe as if about to strike. She draws in a bunch of little floating things around her, as if the girl is just rinsing through a bunch of enemies and those are their corrupt souls.

Maka is so concentrated on this new heroine of hers, she is oblivious to the fact that her teacher has already walked in and given them a new assignment.

She keeps adding details, the girl is wearing gloves, and the scythe has sharp triangle like teeth ignoring the chitchat of the other students. She adds in buildings and a crescent moon smiling wickedly with blood dripping from its mouth.

She suddenly is surrounded by quiet. She looks up to see that people are filing out of the classroom and the teacher has already left. Wow. She is just not herself today. She ignored a whole fucking assignment. She growls and gets up, gathering her things in her arms. She heads to her next class.

* * *

Maka is finally home and she dumps her stuff on the floor and lies down with it. Some prick is moving in right across the hall from her and the jackass had the entire hall and staircase filled with movers and boxes. She doesn't even know how that much stuff could fit into that tiny apartment. She sighs. She is exhausted. She just wants to take a nap and sleep until it's 2050. But she can't. She has things to do. She needs to clean her room; it's becoming hard to see the floor. She needs to do homework. She needs to study.

She whines because all of that sounds so unappealing. But despite the fact, she hauls herself up from the floor and goes to her stereo and turns it on to as far as it can and lets herself dissolve into the music.

Maka goes to the kitchen because she hasn't had anything to eat today so she puts two pop tarts into the toaster and heads to her room to change into shorts and take off her bra. She goes back to the living room/kitchen to start cleaning.

Unexpectedly the door slams open. Some albino dude just stands their huffing. She screams as loud as she can because she has seen movies about this.

She hates Mondays.


	2. Chapter 2

So there he is, standing in her front door huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf because her music was way too fucking loud and now he's staring like some idiot because he's seen this girl before and she isn't wearing a bra and he barged in her home like some pervert. He hates Mondays.

He had woken up this morning in a crummy motel, totally ready to finally say goodbye to it because today was the day he finally got his new apartment. He went to go take a shower and smell like cheap bar soap for one last time. He scrubbed the free yet crummy breakfast smell away from his body and washed the motel detergent from his hair.

He got out of the shower; the bathroom filled with steam and went to the bed to lye down because something about taking a shower in a bathroom that wasn't his was just exhausting. After enjoying his mini space-out session, he got up and shrugged on some jeans and a t-shirt.

He gathered his suitcase of clothes, his bag of electronics, and his backpack and proceeded to check out then head toward the new apartment.

Living in Chicago during the spring was terrible. It was as cold as his mother's heart in the morning and hot like his love for the piano in the afternoon. One of the reasons he was wearing his baseball cap backwards with little tuffs of white hair sticking out from the hole. It was too cold not to wear a hat, but not sunny enough to have the bill sticking out. He hated this kind of weather because wearing his cap like that made him look like a prick.

He was driving towards the campus. His new home was about four blocks away from it. The dorms were about two blocks away but the building he was about to live in only charged $900 a month. The dorms were $1,200. That's marketing for you. Someone is always going to screw you over.

He finally gets there, parking in the place he was told to park. It has the number of his apartment on it: 312. Next to him is the apartment 311 with just a bike in the slot. A bike with pedals. He mentally shrugs; he didn't really expect his neighbors to be cool anyway.

He walks up the three flights of stairs, not wanting to take the elevator, and gets to his apartment. On the door it says 312 with the name _Evans_ laminated next to it. He turns around, looking for 311 with the lame bike. He finds it right across from his_. _It says _Albarn_. He wonders if it's a dude or a chick.

Soul opens the door to his new home and takes in the smell of fresh paint and clean carpets. He drops his suitcase, his bag of electronics, and his backpack and goes to the kitchen.

There's not a real table, just a bar with three stools behind it. It connects to the marble countertop under the cabinets and ends with a fridge directly across from the start of the bar/table/thing. Looking out from it is a TV installed in the wall and a black couch facing it. On the either sides of it, there are two identical windows with blinds.

He turns from the kitchen and goes down a small hallway. To his right is a bathroom, his _own_ bathroom, and to his left is his room. It's not very big but it's big enough. It has a small window to the left of it leading to a fire escape staircase. He can still see the little clean prints of where the previous owner's furniture sat, letting in no dirt.

He opens the window and inhales, taking in the city smell of Chicago. It smells like gasoline and cigarettes. He cringes.

Soul's done exploring the place so he grabs his backpack and starts walking to school. He checks his watch and it's ten to nine. He'll be there in time, he thinks. Maybe not. He sticks in his ear buds in and presses play and steps in tune with the piano and bends his fingers to the elegant dips and rigidly high notes.

He's finally at his first class, History of Ancient Civilizations. He kinda hates history because so far in his life he hasn't found that knowing how the Maya civilization ended has ever come useful. And he's nineteen. He doesn't know why he took the course.

He sits down with the other students, unintentionally a bit late. After only three minutes, he gets drowned in the small whispers of other students and the monotone lecture the professor is giving. He doesn't concentrate on any of it and instead he starts drawing.

He draws a monster with sharp fangs and big empty eyes. The guy has a nose like Pinocchio and a symbol on his forehead. It has a big stomach and bony legs with three, foot long talons coming from its hands. He adds scrawny wings to it and wahla! There you have it an original piece from Soul Evans. The monster looks ugly and scary and good. He is satisfied.

He looks at the clock and the bell is about to ring. He packs his stuff and listens to the last of his teacher's words…

"… and don't forget to complete your portfolio!" the bell rings and students stand up in unison "It is due next week!" he finishes.

Fuck. He forgot about the portfolio. He is in deep shit. They were supposed to have a twenty-paged portfolio on their choice of an extinct civilization. Complete with mini-model of something important to them. He hasn't even started.

He grumbles and stalks out the room and starts walking to Astrology. However he can't stand the thought of going through another class without caffeine so he heads to the nearest vending machine.

The closest one is in the Liberal Arts building so he opens the door, and starts climbing the stairs to the second floor. There are only about six vending machines throughout the entire campus and most of them are placed in extremely inconvenient and useless places. Like on the second floor of the Liberal Arts building, down a hall, and around a corner. He's in the hall now and turns the corner but stops.

He was then witnessing the funniest thing he had ever seen in his life. Some random girl was dancing. Swaying her hips to the loud music in her headphones that he could hear all the way from over there. Every time someone was done with his or her purchase she stopped dancing, like everything was normal. Then she started dancing again and he could barely contain his laughter because she was _terrible_.

At least that's what he thought until she was the last one to get her refreshment, the only one around was her. She dialed in her number with three fingers expertly, then _fucking grinded down an invisible pole_ to get her drink. He was blushing when she skipped off in the other direction.

They need to put warning signs around here he thinks. WARNING: possible girls dancing giving you possible hard-ons. We thank you for your safety.

Freaking bullshit. He had just finished puberty, the last thing he needs is another boner. Luckily he's only slightly horny, not enough to wake up Soul Jr. So he continues onto the machine as if nothing happened and gets his cold coffee.

He immediately chugs it down. Now he is ready for Astrology.

* * *

He wasn't ready for Astrology. He fell asleep. Apparently a bottle of caffeine and sugar wasn't enough to keep his eyelids open. That's all he had to do, keep his eyelids open and he failed. Whatever, he needs sleep.

He doesn't go to his Biology room; instead he goes to the library. He walks in and goes to the farthest table in the back, takes off his hoodie, places it on the table and snuggles into it. Sleepy time for Soul he thinks. If anyone comes near him he will bite their hand off. Albino shark boy falls asleep.

He is asleep for an hour and a half until some loud juniors come in and wake him up. He sits up and rubs his eyes. Then he glares at the bunch of loud and obnoxious girls giggling and laughing like it isn't a fucking library. When he realizes they aren't paying any attention to him, he grabs his backpack, jacket, and cap.

He's actually not that mad that those girls woke him up because now he gets to be in time for VG design. He really loves it. He's definitely majoring in it.

He gets to the classroom, a little early than everyone else, and sits toward the top of the traditional college-style classroom. He waits as seats start filling up and the teacher finally gets there. He's about to give them the new assignment he's been looking forward to, but just as he is about to speak, he notices the person in front of him.

It's that girl! The one with the extremely bad yet sexy dance moves at the vending machine! He's about to look away before she notices eyes on her, but she seems concentrated on something. Deeply concentrated he realizes as he leans in dangerously close to her. He sees her drawing something.

It's a girl with pigtails, a big trench coat, a checkered skirt, and a huge scythe. He watches as she starts adding in more details, as she shades. Time flies and the teacher is done giving the assignment.

He doesn't know this until his friend, BlackStar, takes his hat off and puts in on himself.

He turns around and glares at his friend but making no attempt to get said cap back. His friend smirks in return.

"What do you want?"

BlackStar raises an electric blue eyebrow that matches his hair. "Were you listening? Even your god was listening. We have a project – pairs of two! Let's go bro."

He hauls Soul out of his chair by the collar. Soul pushes him off. "So what are supposed to do?"

BlackStar eyes him and sighs. "Although it be not responsible for me to tell you because you should have listened yourself, I am a god of pity so I will tell you. is having this mandatory contest. Whoever creates the best story line, will win. Then they get to work on developing it for the rest of the year! It's going to be so awesome when we win!"

Soul rolls his eyes and sits down next to his idiotic friend. "So, brainstorming…"

"Screw brainstorming!" he interrupts "I already know what we're going to do!"

BlackStar continues to ramble on about his new game that sounds strangely familiar to COD, how it'll be so awesome, how they'll definitely win … but all Soul can do is look at that girl.

Weird chick.

* * *

But anyhow, now he's standing in the middle of the weird chick's doorway, music blasting and both persons still. They stare at each other for seconds or years but it feels all the same. And then she screams.

_a/n: sorry for the late-ish update _


End file.
